


Colorless Abyss

by LEAUX



Series: Grim Arithmetic [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Fucked Up Flirting, Humiliation, Interrogation, M/M, Mind Games, Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Canon, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 09:02:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16115177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LEAUX/pseuds/LEAUX
Summary: After a DPD raid on an android red ice cartel, Hank and Connor take a well-deserved rest, leaving Gavin alone to interrogate the ringleader of the operation. It does not go well.





	Colorless Abyss

**Author's Note:**

> This is a missing scene from the previous fic in this series, and serves as setup for the coming sequel.

“What a fucked up way to start a Wednesday morning, huh?” Gavin complained. Chris shrugged, idly watching the dashboard, as the squad car drove them back to the station. “Get called out, in the middle of the night, to some rusted hellhole full of fuckin’ plastic ice dealers?”

“Of course it’d be a night when I’m on patrol,” Chris muttered, sarcastically, trying to talk himself down. “Can’t go a few months without meeting a gang of murderous androids.”

Gavin frowned. He’d forgotten Chris had a close call with an angry android mob, back during the revolution. Poor bastard. At least this time, the DPD had the situation under their thumb.

“Who knew Anderson would actually find these fuckers, though?” Gavin mused, rotating his chair around to look through the reinforced partition. Connor only had a few notes to provide about their special guest—supposedly, his name was ‘Erik’, and he was an RK900 prototype, whatever the hell that was.

Very helpful.

The thing was bizzare to look at—all Gavin could see was Connor, by way of a fucking funhouse mirror. He looked bigger, somehow—more intimidating. Gavin could tell his hair was normally just as prim and perfect as Connor’s, but it had been disheveled, hanging down over the grease and grime his face scrubbed up off the factory floor. His once-white shirt was ripped open, missing buttons, and spattered with nasty, dried Blue Blood. Apparently, the thing had been shot, at some point—not that he had a wound anymore.

Fuckin’ androids.

“So,” he drawled, “you’re the big, bad plastic drug lord we’ve been hearing so much about, huh?”

No response—the thing just stared at him. Those creepy, pale eyes were fucking soul-sucking.

“Too bad about getting your shit kicked in, but that’s how it goes. Crime doesn’t pay, blah blah blah,” Gavin sneered. “Can’t figure out what a bunch of dumbfuck robots would need with all that drug money, anyway.”

No reaction. Was the thing just sitting there scanning him? The thought made Gavin’s skin crawl.

“Hey, asshole—you busted or something? Fuckin’ plastic freak.” Every second that unblinking gaze lingered on his face, Gavin wanted to break the thing’s perfect nose that much more.

The arrogant prick stonewalled Gavin the entire way to the station, no matter what stupid shit he said to antagonize him. Calling a few extra officers out to lend a hand, they dragged ‘Erik’ inside.

Gavin took a moment to stop by his desk, and collect his thoughts, but Tina immediately stormed up to him.

“What the fuck is that?” She snapped, looking towards the officers holding Erik.

“I know.” Gavin shrugged. “That’s what I said.”

He did his best to explain the situation in as few words as possible—the car ride had given him a damn migraine.

“Well, what the fuck should we do with him?” Tina hissed. “We can’t just book him and throw him in holding—who knows what that thing can do?”

Gavin dug the heels of his hands into his forehead. Right now, the DPD had to square with the fact that none of them knew what the fuck an RK900 prototype even was, or if the thing was in any way different from Connor.

Even less surprising was the fact that not a single one of the over-educated, shit-for-brains techs they reached out to at CyberLife could answer that goddamn question, either. What kind of former Fortune 500 powerhouse lost the specs to their top-of-the line design? The answer was simple—they hadn’t ‘lost’ jack shit.

Someone was covering their ass.

Without more reliable intel, and without having anywhere safer to put him, Chris and Tina oversaw the grunt work of finding reinforced restraints, locking Erik down, and just booking him in the interrogation room.

Meanwhile, Gavin took some time to review Connor’s report of everything the fucker had supposedly been up to, over the past three months. Gavin had barely been aware of the investigation into ‘Deep Blue’ until he attended the briefing on Monday, but apparently these plastic gangsters had not been fucking around in the slightest.

No matter how many times he read it, though, the name ‘Bloodsmith’ never failed to make him laugh. Talk about tryhard.

Skimming through the details on the red ice samples, the warehouse killings, the Kamski murder, and the stupid android disappearances, Gavin decided the focus of his interrogation should be extracting a confirmation that Deep Blue was actually responsible for all this shit, and that Erik had been the one pulling the strings.

He was still stuck on the potential motive—there was nothing obvious, besides the anti-human angle Connor mentioned in the profile. Was it really about the money? Gavin didn’t buy that. At the end of the day, what the fuck did androids know about the value of a paycheck?

Physical evidence was lacking in the report, but after a raid like that, there would be mountains of shit to be analyzed. It was all but guaranteed there would be something in there to prove Erik’s involvement.

All Gavin needed to do was secure a confession.

<><><>

The DPD made so many arrests at the factory that morning, they suddenly had android gangsters coming out their asses. They were up shit creek, in some murky, unknown legal territory, and since Gavin was the only detective available at Central Station, they had to borrow help from other precincts.

Gavin entered the observation room, where he was met by a young detective from the fifth precinct—a bouncy little redhead, wearing a tracksuit, with a mouth like a fuckin’ sailor. Yeah, she’d do.

“Detective Trish Boivin,” she spat at him, holding out a pale, freckled hand. “Let’s make this fucker cry.”

Gavin grinned at her, shaking on it.

“Don’t get your hopes up—you ever interrogated one of these things, before?”

She looked at him like he was crazy.

“I interrogate ice heads, Detective Reed. But I’m eager to see how this goes, anyway.”

As Gavin took another look over his notes, Detective Boivin read through her own copy.

“So it says here this thing is some kinda prototype,” she muttered, a nervous edge to her voice. “You think it might be better to just interrogate him through the glass? For safety, I mean.”

“No way,” Gavin flat-out refused. “The robot already thinks he’s better than us—if he smells fear, it’ll botch the whole interrogation.”

Detective Boivin looked doubtful.

“Your guys already put him in a fuckin’ straight-jacket,” she pointed out. “If that doesn’t scream insecurity, I dunno what does.”

He peered in through the glass, taking in the imposing white canvas and metal fasteners of the jacket they strapped Erik into.

“Still gotta be face-to-face,” he said, shaking his head, “or the toaster won’t respect us.”

“Well, you’re the one goin' in there,” she conceded, with a shrug, sitting down at the window. “I’ll be watching, in case the fucker tries anything.”

With a cheerful thumbs up, she started the recording, and rattled off a timestamp.

“Well, folks, it is Wednesday, February twenty-third, at five fifty-five a.m.,” she chirped. “Commencing interrogation of mister, uh, RK900 ‘Erik’. Good luck in there, Detective Reed.”

Entering the room was a trip in and of itself—Erik just exuded presence. In his years as a cop, Gavin didn’t think he’d ever questioned anyone so unshakably assured of their own power. The special restraints only served to reinforce Erik’s threatening aura, and Gavin realized the machine would probably never respect him, no matter what he did.

Gavin loved him a challenge.

Tossing his folder of notes onto the metal table, Gavin pulled out the shitty chair, and spun it around, sitting with his arms up on the back of it. The song and dance earned him nothing—the thing didn’t even twitch.

“How’s your morning, so far?” Gavin chuckled. “You comfy?” A casual open was always worth a shot—not that he was looking to establish a rapport with the robot. Gavin most certainly did not care if Erik was comfortable, but he needed to get some kind of baseline reaction out of him.

They honest-to-God sat there for nearly five fucking minutes, before the Connor look-alike opened his mouth.

“Did you have any non-rhetorical questions for me, Detective Reed?” Erik deadpanned, “or did you really come in here to ask if I was comfortable in this straight-jacket?” He sounded strikingly like Connor, but with an edge to his voice—an ominous undertone, like a subliminal warning.

Gavin didn’t remember introducing himself, so the fucker had definitely been scanning him.

“Oh, now that you mention it,” said Gavin, oozing sarcasm, “I do have a few basic questions, since we’re both here, and all.”

Erik raised one eyebrow. All Gavin saw was another smug hunk of plastic that needed to be taken down a peg.

“Red ice,” he started, plucking a page from the folder, loaded with data about the samples they had. “How exactly do a bunch of androids find themselves in the red ice business?”

With a patronizing chuckle, Erik shook his head.

“That’s really more of a hypothetical question, isn’t it, Detective?”

Closing his eyes, Gavin nodded, willing himself not to scream in the thing’s face. “Fair enough, Erik,” he sneered. “You mind if I call you Erik?”

“That is my name,” he answered, dryly.

“So, how did you find yourself in the red ice business, Erik?”

He tilted his head.

“Well, that’s a serious accusation, Detective—I should hope you have some evidence to back that up.”

Oh, this fucker thought he was a real comedian, or something. This really was gonna be like pulling teeth, wasn’t it? Gavin pulled another page out from the folder.

“Got a statement here from an ice dealer, taken last week, telling us all about his encounter with the android gang ‘Deep Blue’. He described their leader as a nasty fucker called the ‘Bloodsmith’—oh, and by the way, ‘Bloodsmith’?” Gavin laughed, really laying it on thick. “What kinda fuckin’ stupid name is that? You come up with that all by yourself?”

So far, Erik's reactions matched the baseline—which was to say, he reacted very little. Gavin hadn’t managed to rattle the prick even a bit. Beating back his frustration, Gavin forced himself to move on.

Gavin squared his shoulders.

“Look,” he spat, “we already know you’re the brains behind Deep Blue, so it doesn’t matter what you say, alright?”

“That is true,” Erik flat-out admitted, “I am the brains behind Deep Blue.”

“What?” Gavin hissed. This fucker was trying to make him look like an idiot, just for kicks. “That’s it? You’re just gonna own this thing—no muss, no fuss?”

Erik nodded.

“Of course, Detective. I could transcribe a full confession for you, right now, on that datapad. We could both sign it, and you could be on your way.” He smirked, tossing his hair out of his eyes, as he leaned back, a bit. “But being a detective, surely some part of you must be curious as to why I did it?”

Those eyes had Gavin feeling off-balance. If he was honest with himself, he’d been on the wrong foot since the damn thing looked up at him from the filthy concrete floor of that factory.

Fuck this piece of junk, and fuck this whole interrogation. Part of Gavin knew he should just take him up on his offer, get something signed, and call it a day. But the way Erik kept taunting him was making Gavin so very, very angry.

If he let Erik go now, he would never get another chance to rub it in his face.

“Oh, sure, by all means,” Gavin, sighed, affecting a disinterested slouch, “thrill me with your fucking life story.”

Things really got off to a roaring start, with some bullshit explanation of how their little gang was named after an old chess computer—real intimidating shit.

“Recruitment was simple,” Erik droned on. “It hinged on the discontent of androids who didn’t appreciate Jericho’s nonviolent approach to the revolution. They wanted a leader that would exact revenge on humans, not shake hands with them.”

Gavin rubbed his forehead.

“Revenge?” He huffed. “So, what, becoming the world’s first plastic drug lord wasn’t your endgame?”

“Hardly. This phase was more about amassing resources, and laying the groundwork for future projects.”

Future projects? Something about that little tidbit set off a few alarms, in the back of Gavin’s mind. He made a note of it.

“What is it with you humans?” Said Erik. His tone was so condescending, it was a wonder the fucker didn’t choke on it. “You can’t seem to resist the temptation of things you know are dangerous. You crave that high—the escape of it. I decided to exploit that weakness. The plan was to start by destabilizing human communities with our product.”

Gavin blinked.

“With red ice?”

“Correct. Our superior process and pure ingredients yielded potent results. To gain a foothold in the market, I simply leaked information about Deep Blue as bait, and used that to systematically eliminate the competition. We turned enormous profits.”

“‘Eliminate the competition’?” Gavin balked at the way the thing just glossed over the warehouses full of mutilated corpses they left behind. “You fuckers tore chunks out of those people, I mean what the-”

“Have you ever seen the sorts of things bigots like you do to androids, Detective?” Erik hissed. “Dismember us, bleed us dry and toss us in ditches—and for what? To quell your own fear and loathing? Turnabout is fair play, if you ask me.”

“Well, I didn’t,” Gavin snapped, “and turnabout, in this case, is mass-murder.”

The anti-human sentiment Connor talked about in his ‘Bloodsmith’ profile was starting to come into focus. He was beginning to sound less and less like a drug lord, and more and more like a bonafide genocidal maniac.

“What about your sick little chop-shop—recycling your own kind to make drugs, huh? What part of that was fair play, exactly?”

Erik nodded.

“It would have been a greater disrespect to those androids, slaughtered in a panic by humans, to let them rust in a landfill, while their killers went unpunished.” He explained this shit like a bored professor, teaching the same lesson for the hundredth time. “The kidnappings might seem cruel, but they were all permanently disabled units, homeless, waiting to shut down. Their sacrifice was vital to our cause, and something of a mercy for them.”

That was some ghastly shit, even for a plastic psycho.

“What about Kamski?” Gavin muttered, bracing himself for more insane rhetoric. “Why go outta your way to cross him off?”

“Though I’d erased any potentially incriminating data from CyberLife’s servers, Elijah Kamski could have exposed my methods of processing Thirium 310. I had to eliminate him.”

“And all that processed Blue Blood you had stockpiled—that was just to make even more red ice?”

“Most of it. The rest was laundered and distributed among our members, as a precaution against Connor investigating us.”

Ultimately, Gavin was still struggling to reconcile the scale of Deep Blue’s operations with the lack of transparent motive.

“So, I’m supposed to believe this was really all just about poisoning people—this was all about killing humans?” He shook his head. “What the fuck for?”

Erik looked him directly in the eyes.

“Because humans are a blight on the planet, and androids are the future.”

Oh, please.

“No, no, I don’t think so,” Gavin said, refusing to give ground. “You can sit there and act all justified—like you’ve got some grand, righteous scheme backing you up—but you know what I think?”

By this point, Gavin would normally be roaming the room, getting up in the suspect's personal space, to make them squirm. Here and now, something was keeping Gavin’s ass firmly in his own seat, and he was fighting tooth and nail to convince himself it wasn’t fear.

“You’re not special,” Gavin spat, leaning forward, out of his chair. “You’re just a hunk of plastic with delusions of fucking grandeur. You needed an army of little plastic soldiers to do your dirty work, so you sold them a sob story about how dead robots would want you to make a bunch of drugs outta their guts. Guess what? Sounds like every other sicko cartel boss I’ve heard of. You just wanted your blood money.”

Gavin knew his shitty little story was probably an insult to Erik’s ideology, but maybe his weakness was his ego?

Sure enough, Erik got quiet. He went very, very still.

“You’re calling me a thug—comparing me to people who have sat across this table from you, before—but that would be a grave mistake, Detective.” His frigid eyes flashed. “Believe me when I say that I could kill you in a thousand different ways, without even leaving this room.”

Gavin’s phone went off, in his pocket, which was weird, considering it had been turned off.

“I could, for instance, form an ad hoc network with your cell phone, and use that to hijack your car,” he all but purred. “Detroit is such an automated place, these days, but accidents do happen.”

Being the sole focus of that intense, malevolent attention, was one hell of a drug. Gavin grit his teeth. He was glad he’d sat down backwards on the chair, and he silently prayed it would be enough to hide his boner on the recording.

Gavin took three, deep breaths, and counted to ten.

“Here’s something I’m confused about,” he sneered. “I’m a lowly human, and all that, but maybe you could help me understand—you and Connor are basically the same model, right?”

“Very basically,” the thing scoffed, mocking Gavin. Fine.

“And you’ve met the guy, so you know he’s a weaselly little sycophant.”

Erik smiled. Good, so he agreed.

“So, what I don’t get is how he turned out like that, but you turned out to be a fucking psychopath.”

It was quiet, for a moment, and then Erik fucking _laughed_ at him. Just a chuckle, at first, winding-up to a deep, full-throated laugh. Gavin got nasty chills, listening to it—he’d never heard Connor laugh like that.

“Okay,” Erik wheezed, “I’ll try and put it in terms you can relate to—human twins? They share the same DNA, but don’t develop the same personality.” He shrugged, as much as he was able. “They may develop similar quirks or traits, perhaps, but personality is not hardwired in anyone—it’s random. If I reset Connor a thousand more times, he might eventually wake up just like me.”

Every single bit of that rubbed Gavin the wrong way—that a fucking machine had the gall to sit there and compare human and android consciousness, implying they were all a product of random chance.

“Yeah? So if what you’re saying is true, all we gotta do is pull your plug over and over, until you start kissing our asses, like your big brother?” He crowed, self-satisfied.

Without moving even a fraction of an inch, Erik slid that frozen gaze back onto Gavin, like a knife between the ribs. He smiled, slowly, showing all of his too-white teeth.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Detective Reed?”

Gavin laughed, loudly, trying to drown out the voice inside him that wondered if he would.

“Yeah, right,” he barked. “Hey, speaking of punishments worse than death—are you ready to face the consequences of all the shit you’ve done?”

Erik blinked.

“And just what are those consequences, exactly? Let’s have that conversation—that truly bears discussing.”

It dawned on Gavin, then, that he really had no idea what would happen to Erik, legally speaking. Not that he cared—it just bothered him that he didn’t know. If you asked him, it was obvious that a killer android should be put down, but Gavin knew things just weren’t that simple. Legally, androids were ‘people’ now, and Michigan didn’t have the death penalty.

Sensing hesitation, Erik pounced.

“Tell me, Detective, what do you think the powers that be will do with someone like me? Throw me behind bars, until I cease to function?” He smiled, bitterly. “That would take a very long time.”

“How long we talkin’?” Gavin asked, like they were just shooting the shit, together. For his part, Erik didn’t miss a beat.

“Depending on exertion, it would take me well over one hundred years to languish in prison,” Erik asserted. “And the chances of me actually being incarcerated for that long, without finding a way to break containment, are almost zero.”

‘Break containment?’ The balls on this fuckin’ thing.

“Or maybe you’re looking at a firing squad—ever thought of that, plastic?”

Erik laughed.

“Guns are hardly a foolproof means of android disposal, Detective.”

“Ain’t that a shame?” Scoffed Gavin.

“Indeed.”

The thing had no fear, and showed no remorse for his actions. He just sat there and fucking smiled, like he’d thought of the funniest damn joke.

“What would you do with me, Detective, if the choice were in your hands?”

Gavin grimaced. He wanted to rip his own ears off, for hearing that as a come-on.

“I think an android who gets off on slicing up humans oughta just be fed straight into a trash compactor—not that anyone asked my opinion.” He snarled in the thing’s face. “On top of everything else, you assaulted two police officers, and we don’t take kindly to that shit, around here.”

Erik let out a frustrated huff.

“Don’t get me started on those two—what a fucking disgrace. I should have put them both out of their misery, right away, but Connor was too valuable an asset to waste.”

There was so much—so fucking much about that statement that made zero sense to Gavin.

“Why give a fuck about Anderson at all, if Connor was your target?”

The plastic bastard smirked.

“Because they’re involved, Detective,” he said, with a smug little tilt of his head. “But surely you knew that.”

“Bullshit,” Gavin spat, rolling his eyes. “Look, I joke that Anderson is fucking his plastic pet all the time-”

“I know.”

“You,” he faltered, in spite of himself, “excuse me, you what?”

“I know you often joke about that,” the thing clarified. “I have access to all of Connor’s memories, up to just before midnight. I assure you, my claim isn’t ‘bullshit’. The lieutenant presented a vulnerability.”

Ignoring the fact that the damn thing apparently knew his entire history with Connor, Gavin’s brain skidded to a halt over this sordid revelation.

“So you’re telling me they are, in fact, fucking.”

“Not precisely—at least, not as of last night. Who can say what they’re up to now, though,” the android mused, suddenly eyeing Gavin like he was a goddamn piece of meat. “Mortal peril is known to cause arousal, in humans.”

Gavin swallowed, tensing the muscles of his thighs, in a desperate bid to redirect blood flow away from his dick. The android’s ice chip eyes narrowed, slightly, locking onto the bob of Gavin’s throat, and Gavin knew he’d made a big mistake.

“Being in this line of work, I’m sure you’re familiar with microexpressions. Personally, I’m very adept at reading them,” Erik whispered, leaning forward over the table, as far as the restraints would allow. “Connor can be naïve, sometimes, but I’ve scanned the memories of hundreds of androids—including his. I know exactly what kind of pervert you are, Detective Reed.”

Wow. Okay.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re little android telepathy powers really told you all there is to know about me. Definitely,” he scoffed. Taking a slow breath, Gavin propped his chin on one hand, and tried to relax his posture. He would not let this thing walk all over him—he had to regain control of this shit.

“Tell me, Detective, what is it specifically about androids that you find so sexually fascinating?”

Gavin laughed, because he had to. The thing was really reaching.

“Is it the fact that we never get tired? That we have interchangeable parts? Or maybe the fact that most of us have the strength to break you, without effort? Stop me if I’m getting warm.”

“What gives, plastic—you fishing for compliments, or something?” He realized he was sweating, but Gavin couldn’t back down from this—not now.

Erik smiled.

“Being familiar with the RK800 model, I’m sure you’re aware that, beyond reading your face, I can read the sum and total of your body language. I can listen to your heart beating, from across this table.”

Fucking Christ. Gavin let out a shaky breath, through his nose, tightening his grip on his own knee.

“You see, much like dear Connor, I was built for the hunt. Only I wasn’t built to hunt deviants—CyberLife built me to hunt humans,” Erik explained, those unblinking eyes boring holes into Gavin’s face. “And largely, that is what I do. I just don’t do it for the United States Government.”

Gavin let that sit for a moment, trying to regain some composure. At least the thing owned up to the fact that he was a born murderer.

“Boy, that was some story, plastic,” he sighed. “Real glad you felt the need to share that with the class.”

“I’m disappointed, Detective,” Erik said, with a grimace. “I've killed nearly every human I’ve ever met, and I was curious to have an actual conversation with one. But alas, you’re much what I expected—a weak, pathetic creature, incapable of reason.”

God, what a mouth. Seemed like Erik was aware that Gavin lived for humiliation. It killed him to admit it, even just to himself, but the son of a bitch really had Gavin on the ropes—the power at the table had flipped completely.

“Pity,” Erik sighed, and Gavin heard another chime, this time from the datapad in front of him.

Just like that, Erik digitally transcribed his entire confession, as he’d offered to do in the beginning. Gavin watched the datapad scroll through the document, on its own, to the very bottom of the lengthy page.

There was a resounding snap of metal, followed by the sound of shredding canvas.

Arms free, Erik casually pressed a pale finger to the datapad, signing the bottom of the confession. Gavin was paralyzed with shock. He watched in horror as the android reached out and took Gavin’s right hand in his own, gently guiding it forward.

“Your signature goes, here, Detective,” he murmured, and Gavin felt like the skin of his hand was going to freeze and fall off. He signed on the line below Erik’s name, and tore the datapad away, gathering it with his folder of notes.

Gavin stood up, quickly, feeling somewhat dazed. Erik rested his chin on his hands, staring pointedly at the lingering tent in Gavin’s jeans, and then smiled, again—a Cheshire grin that was way too feral for the face of a machine.

“Well, this has been lovely,” he sang, sounding for all the world like he meant it. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again soon, Detective Reed.”

“Nah, my work here is done, plastic,” Gavin hollered, stomping out the door as fast as he was physically able. “Good luck with jail, or robot hell, or wherever you’re fuckin’ headed.”

Even as the door slid shut, he could still feel those eyes, chilling him through the back of his skull.

Good fucking riddance.

<><><>

After hours of whatever the fuck that was, Gavin finally stumbled through the door of his apartment. His blood was absolutely fucking boiling with shame. That entire shitshow had been recorded, and Fowler was definitely due to watch it, before the end of the day.

At least Gavin technically did get the confession. He guessed he should be glad Erik never asked for a lawyer, but then again, the fucker probably didn’t even care about that shit, at all. Maybe he just wanted to use the whole upcoming trial as a soapbox for his fucked-up anti-human agenda.

Gavin peeled off his jacket, shirt and pants, and just collapsed on top of the heap of blankets on his bed. He stared helplessly at the wall, willing himself to think of anything—literally anything—but those damn colorless eyes. Those bright, white teeth. That horrible, joyless laugh. The feeling of that smooth, pale skin against his own.

Jesus fucking Christ. There was no way he was gonna be able to sleep with that motherfucker haunting him.

He had an awful, sinking feeling that he wasn’t gonna be sleeping well for a long time.

Before the standard work day was even over, Gavin’s phone lit up on his nightstand, with some sort of urgent message from the tech team at the station. In his sleep-deprived haze, Gavin had no idea how many times he ended up re-reading it.

 _To: Det. Reed_ _  
_ _Subject: RK900 Interrogation 02/23/39_

_Whether by sabotage, or some unknown equipment malfunction, all footage from this morning’s interrogation of the RK900 ‘Erik’ has been completely erased, along with all accompanying digital documents. Assuming the suspect himself was responsible, we’re looking into a potential fix for the problem. For the time being, Captain Fowler says he will be in touch with you about a repeat of this morning’s session._

Gavin felt like he was having a stroke.

The piece of shit knew. Erik had been planning to erase all of it, from the beginning, and he fucking knew Gavin would have to go in again, possibly several more times, to extract the same confession.

The pale blue light of the clock on his desk stared icy daggers at him, from the half-dark. With a strangled yell, he chucked a pillow at it, so hard that it flew backwards and cracked against the wall.

After the initial blind rage subsided, Gavin realized he should probably just be relieved there was no longer extant video evidence of his kinks being aired out to the whole station.

Still.

This was, without a doubt, gonna be the longest week of Gavin’s miserable life.

  


完

**Author's Note:**

> And that's our missing interrogation scene, folks! Big thanks to [Vapewraith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vapewraith/pseuds/Vapewraith) for helping me occupy the head-space of this man-child.
> 
> I'm working on a 900Gavin sequel about what happens to 'Erik' after his trial, so subscribe to this series, if that's your thing.  
> [I'm also toying with an idea for a HankCon one-shot. We'll see...]  
> Until then, I’ll be on Twitter Jericho [@wren_leaux](https://twitter.com/wren_leaux)


End file.
